Poem: The Street Dweller
They call me “homeless” but don’t care to ask my name. I prefer “Street Dweller” ‘cause the streets are my home.
They call me purposeless but life on the streets spells “survival of the fittest.” That makes me far from useless.
They call me hopeless but I have hope as I am streetwise. From place to place I trek, I know bins full of food, and outside which shops to beg.
Bus drivers know me, turn a blind eye when I hop for a free ride. They call me senseless but I put to use the common sense given by the Most High, when I look to the sky and can tell if it shall rain or shine.
Then I know where to lay my head; in someone’s shed, a fold up box, open air? Anywhere as long as it is miles away from a fox!
I am a Street Dweller!
Yes, among life’s fittest.
A Survivor, that’s who I am!
That’s Me!!
Editor’s Note: Melinda passed away on October 16, 2021, shortly before the publication of Issue 3. Not only was Melinda one of our first contributors to Mustard Seed Mountain, but there was no doubt of how much she loved her children, how much she hoped to stay in recovery, and how much she wanted to be a contributor to this paper. Her last text to us stated how happy she was to move near her little boy, and a poem you can read here.